“I find it’s awfully hard to be sorry for you, Dick, in any connection. There’s really nothing pathetic about you, no matter how tragic you think you are being. You’re rich and lucky and healthy. You have everything you want—”
“Not everything.”
“And you live the way you want to, and eat the food you want to—”
“The ruling passion.”
“And make the jokes you want to.” Nancy literally stuck up a saucy nose at him. “There is really nothing that I could contribute to your happiness. I mean nothing important. You are not a poor man whom I could help to work his way up to the top, or a genius that needs fostering, or a—”
“Dyspeptic that needs putting on a special diet,—but for all that I do need a mother’s love, Nancy.”
“I don’t believe you do,” Nancy said, a trifle absently. “Unlock the door, Dick. I don’t think Sheila put on that sweater when I told her to, and I’m afraid she’ll get cold.”
“Kiss me, Nancy.”
“Will you unlock the door if I do?”
“Yes’um.”